


The Price of Flesh is Love

by passeridae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angela Carter as a Muse, Little Red Riding Gabe, M/M, fairytale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 02:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16547393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passeridae/pseuds/passeridae
Summary: There is a wolf, they say, that lives in the forest and eats the unwary travellers who wander from the path. He is golden like the sun, like precious metal, with eyes like deep water, and he will lure you to your doom.





	The Price of Flesh is Love

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, massive thanks to synteis who was irreplaceable in ensuring Gabriel was age-appropriate, as well as helping keep my pacing on track. 
> 
> If you haven't read Angela Carter's "Bloody Chamber", then I thoroughly recommend it. Her versions of classical fairytales are the reason this fic is in the form it is, and delicious in their own right as well. (Hold Me Like an Animal by Orphened* is also inspired by Angela Carter, and is the other major inspiration for this work)
> 
> * https://archiveofourown.org/works/9521933

There is a wolf, they say, that lives in the forest and eats the unwary travellers who wander from the path. He is golden like the sun, like precious metal, with eyes like deep water, and he will lure you to your doom.

* * *

Gabriel has heard this story since he was large enough to toddle, been taught to distrust any gleam of gold as a deathly lure rather than a thing to covet. Even so, his mother always cautions him to stay on the path, to never trust gold, before she sends him on a trip to his grandmother’s — like there’s any sort of possibility that he would have forgotten it in the week preceding. 

It always feels so useless, these reminders. Gabriel knows the stories, they’re pressed into his very bones, and his mother’s hovering is stifling. Really, these trips through the forest are his only escape from it all. 

Sighing in frustration, Gabriel scans across the woods in front of him; dense green undergrowth under denser green leaves, light dappling through the canopy to break up the ripples that rustle along the thickets as animals scurry about. The path itself is lit well enough, but the field of view around it is small; light fading rapidly until all that remains is an impermeable gloom. The path itself is broad and well travelled, hard packed dirt clearly distinguished from the plant life around the edges.

“She treats me like a child,” he mutters at his feet, scuffing the toes of his boots in the dirt beneath them as he trudges along. His hands pick absently at the seam of his cape, solid black with a trimming of bright red ribbon. His grandmother was the one who sewed the ribbon on, _ for protection _ , she told him,  _ against those who would harm you _ . He had vehemently denied his need to be protected, offended that it would still be needed with his age and strength. She’d not listened to his complaints one minute, only clucked reproachfully at him and told him to consider the ribbon a gift. And it was rude to turn down a gift, especially from your family.

He knows, intellectually, that the reason for this protection is one of his childhood friends who also used to walk this path. Amèlie, the only other child in the village that he could stand for long periods, the only girl he would even consider marrying. She had walked the forest’s path weekly for years, without harm, until one day he had vanished without a trace. Her family had been frantic to have her back, searching the fringes and scouring the path for signs of struggle, until she had been returned some weeks later. Bloodless, blue, torn into five gory pieces.

So on to the cape the ribbon had been sewn, by his grandmother’s own hands. Despite her age, and the arthritis that stiffened her joints, her stitches are even and small, lasting even as Gabriel picks at them with a nail. What happened to Amèlie could never happen to him, but the ribbon is pretty, and he appreciates the work his grandmother put into the garment. He has always been her favourite, which is why he is the one who is always tasked to bring her food as the days run short. He likes to think that this is because he is the best able to manage the trip, the one who best knows the forest. After walking through it every week for years, there’s nobody that knows it better. This particular trip, he has a loaf of dense rye bread, a chunk of salted meat, and a tiny clay jar of fresh honey, the last of the year’s production. The hives are originally hers, and even now she is given most of the gold that runs from them; one of the best parts of his visits is that she insists on sharing her spoils. 

A bird chirps loudly in a tree above him, and Gabriel is broken from his thoughts to look up at it. A nightingale gazes back down at him and twitters again, before breaking into flight. Through the treetops, he can see that the sun is already arcing down from its zenith. With a sigh, Gabriel hurries onwards.The days are so short, there’s barely any sunlight at all.

He does allow himself one brief stop, though. There is a collection of primroses just off the path, close to his grandmother’s. They’re her favourite flower, have been as long as he remembers, and he always makes a point to pick her some on the way. Today, they’re blooming even more densely than usual, and Gabriel looks both ways down the path before hopping off and into the clearing. Their cheery yellow faces look up at him as he starts to pluck them from their stems. He’s not meant to leave the path, he knows this, but so many years, and so many trips, and not once had any harm befallen him in this place. Surely it’s just as safe as the path, he reasons, even as a thrill zips through him at the sensation of leaf litter underneath his boots. And besides, the risk is worth it to make his grandmother smile.

As he’s returning to the path, his cape catches on a protruding tree branch, and tears slightly, leaving threads of black fabric behind. Caught up in his flowers, and hurrying to make up for lost time, Gabriel doesn’t notice and hurries on. Once he’s out of sight, a pale hand picks up the thread, before vanishing in a cold breeze. 

Gabriel arrives safely at his grandmother’s house in the sun’s late hours, knocks politely on the door and waits in the waning light. His grandmother’s house is small, a single room, built of heavy logs, and it sits in the middle of a large natural clearing. She has lived here for as long as Gabriel can remember; his grandfather was a woodsman and after his death she had sunk her own roots deep into this place. It takes little time for her to bustle to the door and exclaim at his arrival. Gabriel can’t help but smile in return, responding to her flurry of questions about himself and his parents as she ushers him inside and out of the chill. She takes the flowers with a knowing smile, which Gabriel returns, cheeky. Unlike his mother, she doesn’t chastise him for exploring, which is why she gets bouquets and his mother doesn’t. Their little secret. A vase is already waiting on her dining table, waiting for them, and Gabriel’s smile widens. Well worth it, indeed.

After unpacking his burdens, he turns to find his grandmother seated by the fire with his cape in his hands, already mending a tear in the fabric. She tuts softly at the rip, wiggling a finger through the hole even as she pulls a needle from the arm of her chair, already threaded in preparation. Gabriel is hard on his clothes, always has been. She had probably been prepared since his last visit to fix his cape again.  “It’s fine, really,” Gabriel starts to protest, only to be stopped short as she fixes him with a wry look. “My boy, you said it was fine when there was a rip the length of you back a few years ago! I assure you that I know better when it comes to clothing.”

“I was seven when that happened,” Gabriel responds reflexively, even as he sits nearby to watch her work. An indeterminable length of time passes with just the quiet crackling of the fire, and the soft sounds of needle through fabric for company. The air smells heavily of rosemary and sage from the herbs drying above, and the heat from the fireplace soaks into his bones. Gabriel drifts. Faint gold swirls curl from the corners of his vision across the air in front of him, hypnotic in their undulating motions. They look so tangible, so real, he thinks that he could almost reach out and touch them.

“Gabriel, fetch me some bread and honey, would you?” his grandmother asks some time later, “and some for yourself too.” He stands, stretches, and resists the urge to yawn. As he starts slicing the bread, his grandmother adds, “and I suppose I should find you some food for dinner, too.”

This he protests; his grandmother has so little out here in the forest, and has to work so hard for what she does have. He can’t come and bring her food then eat it all, not only would that be rude, it would be unfair to her. She was the one who taught him manners, he reminds her, how could he work against the values she tried to instill in him. Besides, his parents are expecting him home. She laughs and gently cuffs him over the head. He has to bend down so that she can reach, which he obligingly does. “Well at least take another piece of honey bread before you go,” she tells him, “to keep you fed on the walk.” This, he will happily do. 

Soon after, he is pulling his newly repaired cape around him and stepping outside. The sun is well into setting, and the sky glows in yellows and reds. Gabriel yawns, takes another bite of the honey bread, and then steps through the clearing and back into the forest. It encloses, then encloses again, swallowing him down.

Darkness comes early to the forest, and it takes his eyes a few moments to adjust to the deep gloom. In the twilight, there is something subtly sinister about the loom of the trees, the press of the branches close to the path. The curling twigs almost seem to reach for him through the darkness, skitter across his cape as he walks and snag threads loose. He tugs the fabric closer, frustrated, and forges further into the woods. The path opens up there, he’s sure. In the corner of his eye, there is a glimmer of gold. He dismisses it.

It doesn’t take long for him to realise that the golden glimmer is not something he should have ignored. Far from being part of the scenery, flashes of it flit in and out of the corner of his eye again and again; each time, he turns his head to see nothing but trees and shrubs in front of him. Pine-dark, consuming, utterly devoid of light. No gold. Nothing but what he expects to see.

He forges onwards, determined not to be put off by tricks of the light. Soon enough, along with the flickers, chilled breezes start skating across the back of his neck, cold enough to force him to pull his cape closer and hunch his shoulders in an attempt to stave off a shiver. The forest quietens around him, like ripples dispersing in a lake. Birdsong becomes a murmur, insects cut off their chirps, even the leaves rustle softer. The dark and silence are eerie. Gabriel pauses for a moment, considering his options. Something is definitely off with how the forest is acting. His mother is overprotective and stifling at times, but she’s taught him the stories well. Stay on the path, head to the nearest settlement, beware of gold. Staying on the path, he has two options. He could turn back and return to his grandmother’s, but he is almost half way home, and he is loathe to walk back again tomorrow. Alternatively, continue walking home. No matter which way he goes, he still has to walk through the eerie-quiet forest for some time yet. Of the two, best to go forwards, towards town rather than away from it. That way, if something does come for him he can call for help. He is on the path, has remained thus all this time. He’s safe.

Decided, he sets off again. Before long, night blooming flowers start to speckle the sides of the worn dirt, growing before his eyes up through the underbrush. The bright white bells beckon him into ponded meadows that glow luminescent, strangely bright against the deep green of the rest of the forest.  _ Walk off the path _ the flowers call,  _ look at the beauty you could walk amongst, drink the clear waters _ . He purses his lips at the obvious lure and continues onwards. Everyone knows that to venture from the path leaves you open to the creatures that lurk within the forests depths. Little children know this, there’s no way he wouldn’t. What do they take him for, a toddler? 

Gabriel pauses again, taking another moment to think. He absently picks at the ribbon his cape as he mulls it over. The flowers are an obvious lure, perhaps they were disguising something beneath? Something more suited to his age and experience, perhaps — another flash of gold fractals in the corner of his vision. He hisses out his irritation. The lure of an unknown golden prize. How banal. Gold is even more obvious than fields of flowers. Rolling his eyes, he huffs a breath of frustration. He’s almost tempted to be truly offended at how conspicuous these hooks are. Did the forest’s creatures really think him so idiotic? This is hardly his first trip through. Pursing his lips and tisking, Gabriel pushes thoughts of obvious lures from his mind and continues on. They’re hardly going to work on him, he knows what he’s doing, why bother even thinking it them further.

He is barely ten paces from the flower meadow when a man appears on the path ahead of him. Gabriel looks back from briefly examining a pull in the fabric of his cape, and the man has materialised right in front of him, standing still in the middle of the path where there had not been a man before. The path is straight in this part of the woods, Gabriel would have seen him approach were he following it. The only logical conclusion is that he came from within the woods themselves. But the woods are still silent. Shockingly so, the trees are no longer rustling at all, and Gabriel had heard no crunching through the underbrush, no scraping hiss of trees on clothes. Nothing to suggest the man had come from the woods either. Not the path, and not the woods. So then where?

Gabriel halts, nervously licks his lips, draws a breath. Something is suddenly incredibly wrong with this situation, a sharp edge of danger creeping up his spine. The meadow, the flickers of gold in the corners of his vision, the darkness and the silence, all these things have left him jittery and on edge, but they were safely off the path and so unable to touch him. This man, though — this man is on the path with him, bringing the threat closer than is comfortable, and Gabriel has no space left in his mind for pleasantries normally offered to travellers. The forest is too silent around him and his breathing sounds loud in the empty air. He shifts his foot, and the clink of buckles echoes. “Who are you?” he asks, fighting a sudden urge to bolt. 

The man says nothing at his question, just continues to stare, wordlessly, at him, with a smile like a knife crossing his face. He stands out sharply from the forest around him, dressed in all blue, bright like a bird’s breast, his hair the colour of wheat across his brow. Gold. The colour that has been flickering in the corners of Gabriel’s vision. His eyes are hard and cold, inhuman. Gleaming like deep water. 

Silently, the man steps forward, towards Gabriel who tenses further, preparing to bolt if necessary. “Who are you,” he asks again. Firmer this time. The man tilts his head like a bird, curls the corners of his lips. A finch twitters a laugh in the trees above, and Gabriel’s head snaps towards the sound. When he looks back down, the man is less than two inches from his face, blue eyes fixed on his. Too close, too fast. Deep water, deep enough to drown. Gabriel flinches back, reflexive, takes two steps away to put some space between them. 

Those steps are a mistake. In his hurry, he steps right off the path. Into the forest. At the mercy of the monsters within. Before he can blink or realise his mistake, the man is upon him, releasing a laugh that ripples like birdsong and rivers, pressing Gabriel against a tree with just the strength in his hands. Gabriel hisses in surprise and anger, thrashes with the aim of throwing him off, but the man doesn’t budge. Inhumanly strong, his hands grip tightly around Gabriel’s biceps, not stopping his movement, but preventing him from going anywhere. Gabriel pushes, struggles against the hold until his muscles strain, until he’s panting like a dog and sweating through his clothing. He’s always been one of the strongest in the village children, always been able to win on force as well as skill, and his repertoire of tricks are all useless against a stronger foe. He doesn't know what to do, and that fact  _ stings _ .

When he stops to catch his breath, Gabriel takes the moments between panted breaths to briefly examine the man holding him still. Up close, his features don’t look quite human. Symmetry too perfect, bones too angular. Nose too straight and even. He’s more the idea of a man than the real thing. Gabriel pulls deep breaths into his lungs, tries to think through the panic of being so easily held in place, of travelling off the path at all. Okay. Okay, force clearly isn’t working — perhaps he can convince the man to let him go instead? Make a trade, or something to that effect. The stories always said it was possible to emerge from those unharmed. “What are you?” he tries, struggling to think, trying to ignore the pain starting to radiate up his arms. What, not who, perhaps this query will yield an answer where the last one didn’t.

“Better question,” the man replies, but says nothing more. His grip tightens slightly. He has stopped laughing, and is now looking Gabriel over like a horse at market, from the hair on his head, all the way down to his feet. Slow, assessing. “Do you want to see my teeth, too,” Gabriel snaps after several minutes have passed in this way, increasingly uncomfortable at the deep stillness around them.  _ Like being drowned _ , his brain whispers traitorously.

“If you’re offering,” the man laughs again, the sound of birds in the distance. He presses closer, so that their bodies are nearly touching, continuing to examine him. This near, Gabriel has the presence of mind to note that the man radiates no warmth. He’s almost icy and once again Gabriel has to resist the urge to shiver. He wishes, desperately, that he could tuck his cape closer to himself, but with his arms aching and held in place he has no way to do so. “Do you have a name?” Gabriel tries. This question yields him a delighted smile, and a response.

“I do! Very smart. My name is Jack.”

Gabriel can’t help but feel that Jack is talking down to him. “And what do you want, Jack?” he asks, fear temporarily shelved so that irritation can take precedence, “I need to be home before my parents start to worry.”

This, apparently, is the wrong question to ask. Jack’s grin returns to the knifelike shape it began as, and his gaze sharpens in turn. Gabriel swallows under its pressure. “What do you think I want?” Jack asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.

This is not helping Gabriel’s irritation one iota. Neither is the bark scratching the back of his neck, nor the vines tangling up his feet. He could almost swear the ivy was twining around his ankles on purpose. “If I knew, do you think I’d be asking you?” he growls, tempering the venom in his voice at the last moment.

“Take a guess,” Jack goads.

“You want to get off me and let me go home.” Gabriel snarks back before he can think through the response. Once he realises what he’s said, he freezes and closes his eyes in expectation of a swift decapitation or something equally gruesome. His mother always said his mouth would land him in trouble one day, christ.

Jack starts to laugh. Gabriel opens his eyes to see the man, head thrown back, laughing from his belly. There is a lilting overtone which raises the hair on the back of Gabriel’s neck, growing as the laugh continues. It almost sounds like a wolf’s yip, but too high pitched, slightly resonant. Jack’s grip on Gabriel’s arms loosens as his laugh continues. He takes a step back. Gabriel takes advantage of this opening, and dashes out of his hold, back on to the path and towards town. He doesn’t look back, knows it will only slow him down. He doesn’t have much time.

If he had looked back, he would have seen Jack staring after him, a hunger in his eyes as his smile widens impossibly broad. “Oh, I like him,” he mutters to the forest around him, which sways its agreement. With a short titter, he takes after his errant prey. This time, the sound of his laughter is undercut with a howl.

* * *

Gabriel has almost made it to the village by the time Jack catches him. Heart in his ears, breath harsh on his throat, on the cusp of safety but not quite free of the forest’s power. After, he will wonder whether this timing is because Jack was playing with him, giving him a taste of hope before snatching it away, or whether it was just poor timing. Jack will never answer this question when asked, only grin. Either way, Gabriel has just sighted the village through the trees when there is an almighty yank around his throat. He chokes, the sudden pressure on his neck making his head swim and his hearing rush even as he frantically coughs. It can only be Jack, snatching his prize.  _ How? _ He frantically thinks. There was no rustling in the underbrush, no footsteps, no swirls of gold in the corner of his vision — no sign at all he was so close to being caught.  _ How, how how? _

By the time he blinks the water from his eyes, he is turned around to face the woods and Jack, standing in the middle of the path, is holding his cape in his arms. Gabriel rubs at his neck, feeling at the hot burn that circles it from his abrupt stop. It’s all a blur, he has no idea how Jack unlaced the cape and turned him around so fast. Another sharp reminder of how inhuman he is, like Gabriel needed any more. Jack runs his fingers almost reverently over the neat stitching of ribbon at the fabric’s edge, the bright red stark against the darkness. Night has fully fallen in the time they have been running, yet there is still light. Jack glows with a soft light that draws eerie tangles in the surrounding trees, making them seem to press in around them. He looks up at Gabriel, another smile quirking his lips. This smile, unlike his previous ones, is almost cheeky. “I think I’ll keep this, as payment for getting you home safely.”

Gabriel’s brows draw together, and he opens his mouth to protest; Jack is the reason he strayed from the path in the first place, the reason he was in danger at all, he would have made it home safe just fine on his own without his interference, of all the nerve — but his mouth snaps closed as Jack throws the cape over his shoulder and it settles not as black, but as a brilliant peacock blue.

Gabriel works his jaw for a moment more before spitting out, “That’s mine.” More than the loss of the garment itself, it’s the loss of the ribbon that incites him. His grandmother had put so much love into its acquisition, and it’s addition, and for Jack to just erase it without a thought makes his blood boil. Like having sweets taken right from his hand as a child, but so much worse. Clothing doesn’t melt like sweets, isn’t meant to be stolen. Words stick in his throat, all of them so childish, so useless. He doesn’t know what to say to get it back, feels so young and he  _ hates _ it. The cape is his. He steps forwards, fully prepared to rip the cape from Jack if that’s what it takes to return it to its original form.

Jack tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “It’s not yours anymore.” Gabriel snarls, grabs at the fabric, gets a fistful, and abruptly halts as red ripples from under his palm to collect around the hood — down the sides, edging the base. Precisely where his beloved ribbon had been. And it’s not just the colour, either, even the little scuffs from tree branches and thin patches from the picking of his nails return as well. The ribbon is just as it was, although the rest of the cape remains blue as a bird’s wing.

“Now  _ that  _ is interesting,” Jack muses, looking at the changes in the cape with an assessing eye, “For the rest of my payment I suppose...” Trailing off, he suddenly leans into Gabriel’s space and presses a chaste kiss to Gabriel’s lips. Gabriel doesn’t have time to react, it’s over so fast, remains frozen with his hand still fisted in the cape. What had just happened? Had he really—? Even as Gabriel is still, Jack raises a hand to touch his own lips and licks them, eyes widening in surprise, “Oh! You taste sweet.” The honey on his bread, eaten all those hours ago. Jack’s eyes focus on his lips and he leans in again.

This time, the kiss is longer. Jack laps at Gabriel’s lips, drinking down the rest of the honey, and as Gabriel’s mouth parts in surprise, Jack takes the opportunity to take a nip at his bottom lip, before delving deeper. Gabriel’s heart is still racing from the hunt, his muscles tense, breathing rapid. He’s reminded, strangely, of the one kiss he’d shared with Amèlie before she vanished; it was nothing like this, almost clinical in comparison. Jack’s lips are cold on his, but they cause something warm to start coiling in his gut, and the hand in Jack’s cape clenches tighter. Jack’s hands move as well, taking Gabriel’s faint tug as permission, one to his waist and another to cradle the back of his head, tilt it for a better angle. Cool wind curls around them in shifting eddies, and Gabriel shivers closer to Jack, reflexively seeking shelter.

When Jack pulls away, Gabriel is panting slightly, a gentle flush high on his cheekbones. Jack is immediately fascinated by this new warmth presented to him, the hand behind his head moving to trace a fingertip over the curve of Gabriel’s cheeks in delight. With an added glow radiating from his skin, Jack looks more perfectly unearthly than ever. Gabriel wants to touch his skin in return, but can’t determine how he’ll react. Will he accept it, lean into Gabriel’s palm with a purr; or will he pull away with a snarl on his lips? He takes a chance, and raises his free hand to cradle Jack’s face. Jack’s drowning eyes slip shut and he makes a noise like a burbling brook. Gabriel feels breathless, struck by his expression, his sudden stillness.

“Surely I’ve more than paid for passage,” Gabriel says after a moment, cursing his mouth when Jack’s eyes snap open, once again pressing the force of his gaze onto Gabriel, deep water and the thrill of a predator’s sight. He tilts his head consideringly, pressing further into Gabriel’s palm, and after a moment, grins broadly. Once again, he seems playful as well as dangerous. Gabriel is not sure if he should be afraid of that expression.

“You are correct, allow me to rectify that.”

Immediately, Jack’s hands are in his hair, his chilled fingers running through the curls and along his scalp, making him tremble at the sensation. The warmth in him coils tighter, encourages him to lean into the touch. The hand on Jack’s cheek drops limply to his shoulder. Jack’s eyes  _ glow _ , encompassing his entire field of vision, drinking in his reaction greedily.  _ Blue like drowning _ , a little voice in the back of his head whispers,  _ still deep waters _ . As the fingers finish their journey, and the sensation fades, Gabriel becomes aware of a new heaviness resting on his brow. He raises one hand to feel at it as Jack murmurs, “A crown fit for a king.” Gabriel’s lips quirk into a smile before he can think about it, tremendously pleased.

This time, when Jack leans in to kiss him, Gabriel finds himself leaning forward in return, tilting his head without prompting. Jack makes a pleased sound, a rumbling purr overlaid with rustling leaves, and curls his hand back around Gabriel’s nape. Gabriel, in turn, lays a hand on Jack’s shoulder to pull him close. The heat in him grows until he feels incandescent, as luminescent as Jack in the darkness. The forest presses close to the path, but does not threaten. Instead it seems to cradle them, leaves patting along with Jack’s hands down Gabriel’s back and roots nudging them closer together. Gabriel, so caught up in the kiss, doesn’t notice.

Eventually, it is Jack who pulls away, remaining close enough for their breaths to mingle. “All debts are paid,” he breathes into the space between them, almost too soft for Gabriel to hear. Then, with a final chaste kiss, light as a bird, he pulls back and flashes that knife smile at Gabriel once again. One finger traces delicately along his lower lip, almost warm after being pressed to his skin for so long. His head tilts, birdlike, a sudden shift of his attention to somewhere else. The forest rustles, sharply. Jack’s mouth twists into a displeased moue, before brightening, sharpening again as he looks back at Gabriel, whose tongue has darted out to touch the finger still pressed to his lip. It tastes of sage, ginger, something sharp sticking to his tongue. Jack presses a little harder on his lip, takes a sharp breath through his nose before stepping back, out of reach.

“I will see you when you next return to the forest.” With that, Jack seems to ripple in place, and the next moment there is a golden wolf standing where the man just was. It trots off the path and into the forest’s gloom. Gabriel is left with a coiled heat in his abdomen, a tingling sensation on his lips, and a crown tangled around his brow. He does not move for some time.

When he eventually arrives home, his parents are fast asleep. He’s far later than expected; it’s likely that they assumed he was staying with his grandmother for the night. The house is dark, and silent, and he feels almost guilty sneaking through the halls. Somehow they are so much emptier than the forest. Finally reaching his bed, he sits on the patchwork quilt and makes to pull the crown from his head so he can finally look at it. The pull drags at his hair but the crown stays stationary, so he tugs harder, trying to dislodge it.  _ Perhaps it’s caught in a knot _ , he thinks, the dash through the forest had hardly been kind. He’ll need to brush it thoroughly in the morning. With a final, hard, tug, the crown flies free from his curls, scraping along his skull, and drawing blood that stains his fingers and drips into his eyes. He hisses sharply at the unexpected pain, looks down in affront at the crown in his hands.

It’s surprisingly beautiful. Gabriel had been expecting something overdone — ornate and wrought in golden metal, like the flashes in the corner of his vision, but instead he holds a circlet of flowers and vine. The thorns that scratched him are briar, woven into the base, and above it are tiny blue and white flowers; bluebells, liverwort, anemones, and snowdrops. He reaches out to touch one of the anemone petals, satin soft and pure white. It sucks up the blood on his finger, sublimating to a brilliant red. He sucks in a shocked breath, leans over it to look closer at the flower. Blood drips from his forehead to strike a snowdrop, staining it scarlet as well. Hastily, he places it on his nightstand before he can bleed on it further. The red flowers stand out like a reproach. They are far from it, though he does not yet know this.

His parents are surprised to find him in his bed come morning, and chastise him for being in the woods so late. What if something had happened to him, they ask, why would he be so careless? Gabriel says nothing of who he met, nothing of his missing cape which he is similarly scolded for losing. The next time he is sent to visit his grandmother, a golden wolf joins him as soon as he enters the forest. And the time after, and the time after that. When Gabriel’s hand moves to sit on the wolf’s scruff it is not shaken off, and small golden flowers bloom amidst their mingled footfalls. If scraps of meat vanish from the kitchens, nobody notices, and Gabriel’s near-daily visits to the edge of the forest are similarly discreet. He comes back with kiss-bruised lips, sweet with forest fruits, implies to his parents that he has found a girl to court. When he tells Jack of this, he laughs himself silly then sinks a bite into Gabriel’s clavicle. “To ward away those girls you speak of,” he teases, eyes dark. He licks the blood from his teeth, and Gabriel’s breath catches in his throat.

One by one, the white flowers on the circlet that sits on Gabriel’s bedside table stain red. Once he cuts a finger whittling, another time he wakes with a bloody nose. All of his blood that touches the circlet is absorbed, the flowers do not fade with time. It remains as fresh and radiant as the day it was created.

Then, one morning, his parents wake to an empty room. Gabriel is gone, as is the circlet that had sat on his bedside table for almost a year. His window is open, his clothing untouched. A bunch of primroses lie on his pillow, shining gold in the morning sun. They wait, fretfully, but he does not return.

* * *

There is a wolf, they say, that lives in the forest and eats the unwary travellers who wander from the path. He is golden like the sun, like precious metal, with eyes like water, and he travels with a companion who is dark as shadow, whose eyes burn red as the last embers of fire. If the golden wolf does not lure you from your path, they whisper, then the shadows themselves will drag you to your doom. 


End file.
